


Take a Stab at It

by MsChievous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood, Chancellor Bad Touch, Constructive Criticism Welcome, He deserves so much love, Literally all of the angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Poor Prompto, Prompto Whump, Serious Injuries, Stabbing, Whump, a little bit, he hides it well, just piled in this fic, like ow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: Written for thekinkmeme:During chapter 11, Noctis stabs Prompto isntead of pushing im off the train. What happens next is up to whoever fills this :ONoctis tried to take revenge for the death of his fiancee. Too bad he missed.





	Take a Stab at It

The gatling gun thrums under his hands. He feels its power as he uses it to shoot down one drop ship. Two drop ships. Three, four, five. They start to careen towards the ground, away from the rail line. Perfect. He whirls around, and slashes through the MTs until the entire ships starts to implode. Then he’s out of there, warping to the roof of the train where two figures are waiting. 

Wait. Two?

Noctis barely takes in the sight of Ardyn holding his friend at gunpoint when he slashes down with a shout of, “Prompto!”. The gun clatters out of Ardyn’s surprised hand and Prompto picks it up, but Noctis doesn’t have time to notice. He’s grabbed a fistful of Ardyn’s coat and slammed the point of his sword through the Chancellor’s stomach. 

A sick satisfaction runs through his body as he withdraws the sword with a jerk, blood splattering over his clothes. Ardyn drops to the ground with a soft gasp, hands clenching over his wound. He’s so close to the edge of the train that Noctis momentarily considers just kicking him over the edge, but he would rather watch the bastard bleed out in front of him. Ardyn looks at Noct with a look almost like betrayal, but Noctis is already turning away to face…

Ardyn? 

Noctis’ mind short-circuits, and his eyebrows furrow. He can’t quite comprehend how Ardyn could be here, when Noctis just ran him through…

“Well, well, well… I must admit, I didn’t think you hated me enough to  _ stab _ me in cold blood. Such a pity you missed, too,” The Ardyn in front of him practically  _ purrs _ , a twisted smile on his lips.

Cold dread makes Noctis turn around, and he almost throws up at the sight in front of him.

Prompto is lying on his side, hands pressed to his stomach in an attempt to stop all the  _ blood _ seeping between his fingers. The redness is a stark contrast to his unnaturally pale skin, and the freckles stand out like flecks of mud. 

_ No. No no no nononononono. _

“Prompto!” Noctis lunges forward. He needs to help, he needs to  _ heal _ -

But Prompto jerks as Noctis comes to help, and one of his arms shoves against the roof of the train as his legs kick out, and suddenly, Prompto’s not there, falling off the edge of the train.

“No!” Noctis is reaching over the edge of the train, stretching to grab onto  _ something _ , but Prompto’s already gone, disappeared beneath the canopy of fir trees. Noctis is frozen to his spot with shock, his mind trying to figure out what the  _ fuck _ just happened. He had warped to the roof of the train, disarmed Ardyn, then stabbed him. But, somehow, Ardyn was Prompto? How?

“How long were you in the dark?” A smug voice asks from behind. Ardyn. Noctis turns to look, but there’s a sharp pain in the base of his skull, and his world turns to black.

 

* * *

 

His head hurts, and the world is fuzzy. He can only hear static, and it takes him a moment to realize that that’s just the wind rushing through his hair. Another moment passes, and he suddenly remembers what had just happened before he got knocked out. He scrambles to his feet, pulling out his phone and dialing a familiar number quickly.

“Ignis!” Noctis panted for breath, trying to calm his racing mind. “You’ve got to stop this thing! Prompto fell off the train, and I hurt him. I mean, Ardyn made me.” Tears break his voice and he tries to swallow them, but every time he tries, he just sees Prompto’s terrified face and all the blood surrounding him. “I don’t know where he is, but we can’t leave him!”

There’s a pause, and Ignis replies levelly, “Stay calm, Noct. I’m as concerned for Prompto as you are. But stopping the train would endanger everyone on board. We’d be sitting ducks for the daemons.”

“What do we do?” His voice breaks at the thought of leaving Prompto behind, bleeding out. A few tears push their way down his cheeks and he doesn’t bother wiping them away.

“First, we drop the passengers off at Tenebrae. We’ll be arriving shortly.”  
Anger curls up in his chest. Didn’t Ignis hear what he said? Prompto’s badly hurt. He probably can’t survive much longer without help. “What about Prompto?”

“Given the Chancellor’s involvement, it’s probable he’s no longer where we left him.” As always, Ignis is the calm voice of reason, and it makes Noctis’ blood boil. He doesn’t even hear Ignis’ next words.

Instead, he hangs up. Ignis is probably right. He’s  _ usually _ right, which irks Noctis to no end. So instead of trying to warp off the train and look for him by himself, he dials Prompto’s number. It goes to voicemail. 

_ No, no, no. Please no. _

He tries again, with a similar result. He doesn’t know how long he was unconscious, but judging by the sun’s position and what time it is now, he assumes it was only five to ten minutes. But in five minutes, Prompto could bleed out.

He dials Prompto’s number yet another time, more to give himself something to do than out of any hope of Prompto answering. If he didn’t answer after two calls, either his phone was on silent, or he was unconscious. Or dead.

But to his surprise, after just a few rings, someone picks up. “Hello?” A crackly voice asks. Noctis’s breath catches in his throat.

“Oh, gods, Prompto? Are you okay? Just- just wait there, I’ll be there soon. I’m on my way, I promise!” He winds up to warp off when the voice on the other end speaks up.

“So you  _ do _ care about him. Funny, I thought running him through was a sign that you distinctly  _ didn’t _ like him, but I guess I’m not all that familiar with current Lucian dating traditions.” The voice on the other end is getting less crackly, and Noctis can make out a vague, but chillingly familiar accent.

“Ardyn…” He growls.

“Oh, were you expecting someone different? Perhaps a bubbly blond? Unfortunately, he’s bleeding out. Quite fast, too. I’m not even positive he’s conscious. One moment.” There’s a pause, a thump, and a grunt. Noctis’s stomach clenches. “Forget what I said,” Ardyn’s voice returns, “He’s barely conscious. Better hurry.”

“Ardyn! Wait!” Noctis is breathless from thinking about what Ardyn could do to Prompto, “Please, help him. I… I’ll do whatever you want, just please  _ help him _ .”

There’s a pause, then the phone clicks off. Neither an agreement, nor a denial. Noctis just prays that Ardyn has some kind of mercy towards his friends. He doesn’t have much hope after what the bastard did to Luna, but he has to hope.

 

* * *

 

There’s pain. So much pain, he wants to throw up. He turns to his side, but nothing comes out. He slowly realizes that the feeling in his stomach isn’t quite nausea, it’s a stabbing, burning  _ pain _ . He probably whimpers, but isn’t sure. All his senses seem mixed up and jumbled except for the  _ pain. _

He’s vaguely aware of a familiar, tinny noise. Is that… his ringtone? Yeah, someone’s calling him. But who could it be? 

Suddenly, a pair of hands is on him, digging into his pocket and pulling out his phone. He tries to complain, but can’t. He can barely see, and his voice only makes odd croaks. He can’t even hear what the person is saying. Everything is so cold and painful, he just wants it to be over.

A new wave of pain crashes into him as something hard slams into his side, and he grunts in pain, he thinks. The new waves of agony make everything fuzzy and weird, as if time itself was distorted.

Slowly, his vision clears, the fog slowly drifting away from his brain to make way for the excrutiating pain. He coughs, looking around for some sign of life, for some way to get help. He tries to move, but the action almost makes him pass out, so he stops. His phone. Someone was here, and they grabbed his phone. Maybe they were getting help. 

There’s a crackling of the underbrush, and Prompto reaches into the Armiger for his gun, but it’s not there. Where the fuck is his gun? He reaches again, for  _ anything _ , and comes up with one of Ignis’ old daggers, one he doesn’t use anymore. 

When he turns to face whatever is coming closer, he nearly drops it. Noctis is standing there, slipping a phone into his pocket. A sadistic grin curls his lips and Prompto shudders, trying to press himself further into the ground to avoid his wrath. He grips the handle of the dagger tightly in his right hand as his left tries to keep his blood back in his body where it belongs.

“N-Noct…” His voice is weak and thready. He doubts Noctis even heard him, “Please… I-I’m sorry…” His voice cracks and turns into a coughing fit that lances pain up and down his spine.

Noctis kneels down next to him, brushing his hair aside gently. Then his hand shoots out, grabbing Prompto’s wrist in a crushing grip. “Do you think  _ sorry _ covers it? What scum like you did to my country? To my  _ father _ ? No. Sorry doesn’t cover it.” He pauses, eyes sliding over to the weapon in Prompto’s hand. “But I know what will.”

Prompto can’t move, partly due to the pain, and partly due to Noctis shifting his stance so he is straddling Prompto’s torso. He can only watch in horror as Noctis pulls the dagger out of his weakened grasp. Then the dagger pushes against his throat. Not hard enough to cut, but close. Prompto’s breath hitches in his throat and he thinks that if he even swallows, the sharp edge will open up a life-ending wound.

Before Prompto can figure out how to get out of this mess, Noctis shifts above him, aggravating his wound and causing his vision to blur. When it finally clears up, he feels a gentle pressure on his lips and sees Noctis’s face practically on top of his. 

Noctis is kissing him. The thought almost shorts out Prompto’s brain, which struggles to comprehend what’s going on. Noctis tried to kill him, is threatening to kill him, and is now  _ kissing _ him. 

But before Prompto can figure out what the hell is going on, Noctis pulls away and pushes his head back, exposing his throat. The pressure on the knife increases, cutting into his neck and drawing a line across his vulnerable throat. Adrenaline shoots through Prompto’s system as sharp, warm pain emanates from his throat, and everything turns cold and numb. His vision blurs and he can’t think straight. Just as his vision goes out, he can see Noctis’s face speckled with blood. 

Then everything turns white.

 

* * *

 

No, no, no. It’s too white, too painful. This isn’t death. This is something else. He’s cold, but he’s warming up, as if someone had dragged him near a fire. 

He can hear something, someone talking. So he’s definitely not dead. How had he survived a slit throat? Maybe it was some sort of Nif secret power or something. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, he was alive, and that was always good, but on the other hand,  _ Noctis _ , his best friend had just tried to kill him.

The voice he hears is louder now, but garbled, as if it’s on the other end of a poor phone connection. Who could it be? Was it a hunter who had stumbled across him? Was it Noctis, trying to figure out why he just wouldn’t  _ die already _ ?

Slowly, his world focused enough for him to make out a familiar head of hair.

_ Ardyn _ .

“Oh, thank the Six, I thought I lost you.” Ardyn sits back on his heels and moves his hand away from Prompto’s. Prompto glances over and sees the remains of a shattered Phoenix Down in his hand. His eyebrows furrow and looks back at Ardyn in confusion.

“Wha-” The single syllable is almost too much for Prompto to speak, and he doubles down in a coughing fit. Thankfully, the coughing only highlights the soreness in his core and throat, no bloody, gaping wounds. It’s a blessed change of pace, and it seems weird that Ardyn would be the one offering him help, but he’s not one to turn down someone’s kindness. Or pity.

“Relax, child…” Ardyn’s voice is soothing as one hand strokes stray hairs out of Prompto’s face. “Your…” He paused. “Noctis is gone. I’m apologize, I attempted to stop him, but I arrived too late. Fortunately, I was in possession of a Phoenix Down. You will be fine, with time.”

A silence falls over them, and Prompto takes a deep breath, fighting back tears. He couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the last few seconds before his...before his death, over and over and over and over. The warm softness of Noctis’ lips juxtaposed with the cold sharpness of the knife against his throat, the warm agony mingled with the cold numbness. He shudders and tries to sit up, bracing himself on shaky arms.

When his arms give out, a warm hand is on his back, keeping him from toppling over. “There, there, little gunman. Best not exacerbate any wounds you may still have.”

Prompto shoves Ardyn away, with a snarl, falling heavily on his side. “Don’t  _ touch _ me!” He shouts.

Ardyn looks sad, but not surprised. He gets to his feet with a soft grunt. “Very well. There’s a small city several miles that way.” He points in a direction nearly perpendicular to the train tracks. “If you hurry, you’ll likely make it before nightfall,” He pauses, then slides out of his coat. “Here. The nights are cold and arduous. You’d best be prepared for it.”

Prompto takes the offered coat in a dubious hand. It’s heavy and smells of dust and pine needles, but it will definitely keep him warm, so he slips into it. “Why are you helping me?” He asks, narrowing his eyes.

There’s a put-upon sigh, and Ardyn closes his eyes. “I’m not a bad man, Prompto,” He starts.

“You killed Lady Lunafreya. Noctis told me.”

“The same Noctis who slit your throat and left you to die?” Ardyn’s voice isn’t meant to be cutting,  but it still stings. 

“I…” Prompto doesn’t have a response to that, so he just shrugs. 

“As I told you, I’m not bad. Just like you aren’t bad, even with that little tattoo you seem so keen on covering up.” Ardyn turns to leave, following the direction the train was going.

Prompto’s hand instinctively reaches for his wristband, where his bar code lies hidden, a constant reminder that he’s not quite normal. He’s never been sure why he has the tattoo, but Ardyn might know something about it.   
“Wait!” The word is out before he has a chance to think about it, “Wh-what do know about it? My tattoo, I mean.”

“Quite a lot. It would take a significant amount of time to explain it all. I’m afraid we’d be here all night.” 

Prompto’s heart drops, though he should have expected as much. Why would Ardyn even  _ want _ to help him?

“But if you follow me to my drop ship, I’d be more than happy to explain everything. Do we have a deal?”

The words are out before Prompto can even think of the ramifications.

“Deal.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. I have a quick question for y'all: I'm trying something where I update longer chapters with less frequency. Is this something you like? Or would you like shorter chapters more frequently?
> 
> I usually try and write at least 3-page chapters, which I upload every other day, but I've been toying with the idea of making longer (6-10 page) chapters and updating once a week or so. It'll still be the same amount of content, just how/when you want me to get the content to you!
> 
> (For reference, this fic is a little over 4 1/2 pages)


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